Like Cotton and Eyes
by sutatikku
Summary: AU : the best release is a good scream. sora speeds. [ just for critique. oneshot. ]


**like cotton and eyes**  
( written because i need practice. probably will be continued maybe later. )  
( rated for the f-bomb being dropped several times and mentions of sexual situations. )  
( critique wanted. )

* * *

It's sad, that when the first thing that comes to mind when you're bored enough to hum, is the Mario Theme Song. It's the kind you hear on Super Nintendo, or Gamecube or something. 

This is why I'm bored. I'm at a pool party, in my navy blue swim trunks that have flashy silver lining. Notice that most males never care what their swim trunks look like. Girls are always getting ones that make them look tanner or their boobs look bigger or their figure slimmer. I don't even care about girl's swimsuits, but I always notice when they're trying to impress _me_ with it. It's not even like I'm horrifically handsome or anything. Girls sometimes do that stuff. The girls at this pool party all have colorful swimsuits, which I guess make it seem more like a college party than anything else. Some of the people are in our college color's which is cool I guess.

Anyways, at this party, there's like three diving boards that us guys are using to jump off and annoy each other with. I was too, you know, diving. I was actually a good diver, in the sense that I could hurtle myself into the water in several different positions. But nobody noticed until you splashed them or did a flip. So that's what I was doing, several air flips and other awkward mid-air positions. My friends in the pool were laughing and urging me along, and the ones that were old enough were leaning against the edge of the pool with their Daiquiris. I, well, I had been trying to be flashy or splash them.

When I noticed that my flips weren't amusing them anymore, I tried to cannonball, which was a failure. I'm a small person, with the small frame and super skinny body. I don't even know why I'm so skinny – I was on the soccer team in high school, playing Midfield. Also, my dorm is on the highest floor – the twelfth. I'm always climbing the stairs, so I don't get why I'm still so small. At least I have almost a six-pack and some sort of muscular arms. Most guys always have their hands on their stomach, like, Fuck, I'm so amazing. Maybe I'm just unique.

Ha hah.

So, my cannonball pretty much nicked several of the kids with the liquor, who in turn swore at me, while their girlfriends told them to watch their mouths or they'd be out of the pool in an instant. I laughed, and they got mad, their faces all red and muscles tightening. They were getting tough on me.

I decided then, that I'd gotten my kicks and was very, very bored. My friends were discussing a football game, and as much as I'd love to enjoy their company, I never care about what they talk about, unless it's music or girls. And that's when we always argue.

The best arguments are about sex and liquor. I'm an emotional fuck, so I'm always getting someone pissed at me. I'm not even sure how.

So, as I'm sitting at the edge of the pool, the only part of my body in the water being my feet, I begin humming the Mario Theme.

In my faux reality, a girl would walk up to me. She'd be Asian with big tits and a polka-dot bikini, and she'd say, "Still thinking about that Nintendo?" And she'd get the system right. Most girls only assume 'xBox', because that's the most expensive. She'd know. She'd then say, "Haha, what systems do you have?" We'd then discuss the money that it was taking from us and how we needed jobs.

This is where it'd get tricky. I'd tell her about my 'job', which was taking care of animals at the animal shelter. Most boys lie about this, but I actually do. I'd then show her my hand, which a Chihuahua bit the fuck out of. She'd laugh and say, "what a fucker."

Yeah, that'd be my perfect chick.

Too bad no one like that exists, and if they do, they don't like emotional bitches. I'm serious.

Okay, in reality, the person that comments on my humming is my friend, Barret. He's probably the only black kid at this party, which is partly hilarious. He doesn't care, though. He's saying, "Fuck, can't get your mind of those damn games, can you?"

I laugh and say, "No." I feel like screaming, though. I don't want to talk to Barret, because in this kind of mood I'm in, what he says will make me act up.

"Haha, you lame bitch. You don't even have a girl on you, do you?"

Like I said, I feel like screaming. I do, in fact, yell, "Fuck you, you pansy ass bitch!" I'm hissing at him, face twisted into a sneer. I've hopped into a standing position, and I'm glaring down at him. I don't know why I'm so mad. It's like people and bugs. You see them and you're mad, even if you're outside, and then you kill them. "Just because you're such a dumb fuck that you've gotten yourself fucking shot doesn't mean you're such big shit!" Even I know at this point that this is entirely irrelevant and just causing a scene, I'm still going at it. "You fucker. Anybody with a gun shoots and gets shot. Fuck. You." I'm so tempted to crush my foot onto his face, but that's when I notice everyone looking.

I suddenly feel like a mental patient having an emotional "scene". All of my friends and schoolmates are rushing at me like the doctors trying to calm me down, and Barret is just looking up at me, and he's saying, "You sick fuck. You sick fuck." Over and over. "You sick fuck."

I don't know why, but everyone loves the word 'fuck'.

"Fucking idiot, why'd you have to act up like that?" My friend says, and he's grabbing my arms behind my back. I'm still angry, though, and it's not their faults.

And suddenly I feel like I should be sobbing. I must look defeated or something because they let go of my arms and begin chatting amongst themselves.

I just walk out; to my car that I'm pretty sure is close to breaking. It's all rusty and broken. I don't even care about cars. I guess I'm just unique.

As I put my key in, and start up the car, my music comes on. I'm so glad its loud stuff, I think its Fall Of Troy. I could settle for almost anything, as long as I didn't have to think.

Girls drive me crazy, that's the thing. If they do one thing cute, you fall a bit in love with them, not matter how crumby they are. My girl had a nice rack, blonde hair which I'm pretty sure she dyed, green eyes, and was slim. But she had the prettiest green eyes I'd ever seen, that's for sure. But, damn, she screwed me over.

When I saw her banging my neighbor, the guy whose dorm was across from mine, I just had that moment. Where everything seemed to be going in slow motion, and everything meant twice as much and was twice as hard. Breathing was hard, blinking seemed wasteful, but having my eyes open was just as bad. But I knew I couldn't stand there with my eyes, uh, closed, so I'm just gaping and letting my body do its own thing.

And I begin crying.

I'm crying now, too, just for the record. I'm already a driving maniac, so I begin speeding the rest of the way. I'm only about three blocks from my dorm when the sound of a police siren penetrates the caphicomy I created with Fall Of Troy. It's total screamo music, so it's pretty surprising.

I stop and I wipe my eyes, but I'm still crying so it's pointless. I slow my car and pull over, which isn't hard since it's only four and no one's doing anything around now but partying. At least, near the college. The police guy pulls over behind me and walks up to the side of my car. He looks like a silent, tough bastard. I wanted a sympathetic one with the New York accent badly, but I got this bastard to deal with.

He's saying, in his bastard-like voice, "Do you know what speed you were going just now?"

I shrug. "Not fast enough." I look over at the police guy, and apparently he doesn't appreciate my sense of humor. I don't know why, but I'm always in the mood to joke when I'm crying. The bastard just flares his nostrils.

He's already writing up the ticket. "Look sharp," is all he says, which is what I assume he's saying to keep from punching me. I know several people who probably want to punch me. But who doesn't?

Maybe a cute puppy.

Well, anyways, he hands me the ticket and you can tell he's happy to give me a ticket. I swear and stick it in my pocket, pounding my hands onto the steering wheel. Forty dollars down the drain.

I begin driving again, this time making sure to not speed. I'm not crying anymore, I've never been able to cry for more than ten minutes in a row. But I always end up starting back up again, which is my problem. I relapse.

Here's the thing, I never really thought I'd marry my girlfriend before I caught her cheating. I guess it's making me so upset because I really liked her. I never, ever thought I'd live the rest of my life with her, though.

I've parked my car, this time in the school parking lot, and I'm walking across campus, to my dorm. This entire time I'm looking at my shoes, thinking about the weather. I'm guessing it's in the nineties, just because I'm sweaty as heck. I'm still in only my swim trunks, though. I think I left my shirt at the party.

Again, I begin humming. Though this time I'm pretty sure it's just something random, which is what I tend to do.

I'm still walking, in fact, I'm walking so much that the force of someone ramming into me only makes me stumble forwards a bit. I turn around in shock, giving whoever did this a skeptical look. Before I could start yelling or crying, I see one of my ex girlfriend's friend. The one that wasn't annoying, anyways.

She's saying, "You okay, man?"

I'm relieved she's not bitching about my girlfriend. So, I think about saying something dramatic. But she's looking up at me with real concern, not phony concern. She has big, brown eyes, and her lips are parted a tiny bit as she looks up at me.

I say, finally, "I'm okay, I guess."

She replies really quickly, voice sharp. "Liar." She has this voice that sounds like one a cartoon character has; it's so soft and quiet. If it was windy, she'd probably have to scream for me to hear her. I guess I'm glad she doesn't sound whiny and loud.

"So what? I need to, uh, play Halo." What a lame excuse.

She's saying, "Brooks, fuck, if you're going to do anything stupid, I'll kill you first!"

Who the heck said I was suicidal? And why is she using my last name?

I sniff, which I guess doesn't make me seem any more stable. I say, "I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'm just a little confused." She gives me this unsure smile, one that looks like she found her dad's dead body but it's stuffed with millions of dollars.

She says, "well, if this makes you feel any better, my brother has a crush on you."

That's something you want to hear.

I ignore her and walk the rest of the way to my dorm.

* * *

just because i want critique. please.  



End file.
